He opens a drawer and pulls out silverware. “Asleep. Didn’t make it halfway through the protest before they crashed.” A beat passes. “They’re on the deck. I ordered a playpen, and it came this morning. Got it all set up out there.” His eyes meet mine. “Thought we could eat outside?”
My chest tightens and stretches at the same time. He got aplaypen. For. The. Kittens. Like they’re actual babies. It’s absurd. Also sweet in a way that sneaks up on me.
“I’ve gotta see them in this playpen.” I try my best to sound casual, but my stupid grin is betraying me.
“Follow me.” He grabs the platter and nudges the slider door open with his foot.
I trail behind with the drinks, flip-flops tapping lightly against sun-warmed planks, the breeze like a feather against my bare arms.
Basked in sunlight, the deck is dappled with warm bands of copper and gold.
Off in the corner, a small bistro table waits, already set with mismatched plates and cloth napkins that look like they’ve been swiped from a picnic basket.
Then I spot it: a pink-and-blue, soft-sided playpen near the railing, mesh sides stretched taut, a tiny blanket folded like a quilt inside. Both kittens are curled up, sound asleep, Stripe on his back like he owns the place, Shadow tucked beneath him like—a shadow.
I let out a small giggle at how adorable they look, but it catches halfway up my throat. It’s not only the playpen; it’s the subtle care behind it. I already knew Knox could be a hero in a crisis. I just didn’t expect he’d have a parental side.
“Evidently, raising hell is exhausting,” Knox says, setting the platter down. “They may be out for a good while.”
I glance back at him. “Because you gave them this cozy penthouse suite to crash in.”
He shrugs, not even trying to deny it. “I’ll admit, they’ve grown on me.”
His words land unassumingly, but his gaze lingers, which makes me wonder if he means more than the kittens.
We settle at the table, and for a moment, it’s just waves slapping below and silverware clinking as we fill our plates. Chicken skewers. Charred peppers. Grilled pineapple. My first bite is better than expected, and the look on Knox’s face tells me he knows it.
“You’re full of surprises.” I bite into a piece of charred pineapple.
“You have no idea.” Confidence drips from his gruff voice.
Something tightens between my thighs, shameless and sudden, as if this love-starved body of mine forgot that Knox and I have shared only one kiss. And God help me, I can’t help but wonder what other surprises he’s hiding.
A beat passes. Maybe two.
I reach for my glass, mostly to keep my hands busy while his gaze holds steady, far too patient for the thoughts spiraling through my head.
My heart knocks harder, thrown by how impossible it’s getting to pretend I don’t want more than a kiss from this man.
“So…” He leans back in his chair, arms folded with a too-casual air, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “About last night…”
I take a breath that barely makes it past my chest. “Yeah?”
“Kissing you wasn’t just amazing, Cami. It wrecked me, in a good way.” He reaches for his glass, takes a sip, then sets it back down with a quiet clink. “And I meant it about taking things slow. Only if that’s what you want, though. No pressure. Just…clarity.”
I trace the edge of my napkin, fingers restless. “What happened last night was mind-blowing. But I don’t want anything serious, Knox. Not right now. This summer, I just need something light. Fun. After the year I’ve had, I want to feel something again, without the pressure of forever.”
He nods slowly, judgment absent in his gaze. “Okay. Whatareyou looking for?”
I pause. “Maybe a fling?”
One of his brows ticks up. “A fling?”
“You said we’ve got the whole summer. So…why not a summer fling?”
“Alright,” he says, easy but curious. “Definefling, Cami-style.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Well, I’ve never had one to be able to define it properly. How about just…you and me. Our littlebubble. A safe, sunlit world where real life can’t reach us. No strings, but exclusive for the summer.”
